


Bay of Souls

by mvernet



Series: Blue Steel & Blue Sky [6]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: A Touch of Profanity, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a scary 1960's horror film, Canon-Typical Violence, Carnival of Souls, Creepy, Established Relationship, M/M, Picasso, Supernatural Elements, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet
Summary: Part six of the Blue Steel & Blue Sky seriesAn established relationship, AU series, taking place perennially in season one.Hutch is undercover as an art lover. Starsky is his driver. When Hutch's mark falls in love with him, a Picasso, and Hutch's soul are in danger. Caution: This fic is creepy. Happy Halloween!





	1. Come to me my melancholy baby

The woman stood before the bathroom mirror, her face vacant as she patted her neatly coiffed hair. She was thinking of her narrow escape from the car crash on the bridge over the bay. Suddenly, a tall, pale faced man in a tattered black suit appeared beside her in the mirror. He opened his dark slit of a mouth as if to speak and reached for her. She screamed and turned toward the ghastly form. The man was gone. Tinny music swelled with an old fashioned tune. Come to me my melancholy baby. Then everything went black.

Starsky stood, walked over to the TV and shut it off.

"What a piece of crap! That was the worst piece of crap, cheap-o, B movie of all time!"

He was alone in the massive Bay City mansion he and Hutch were calling home these days because of the Ganson case. Since the TV was non-committal and not voicing an opinion, he got up to get a beer from the mini-fridge under the bar. He glanced at his watch. The glow-in–the-dark dial proudly showed him it was midnight. 

"Where is he?"

 

The watch just glowed. Like the TV, it wasn't talking either.

 

Starsky and Hutch had been together as partners in every sense of the word for five months now. Everything had changed in his outlook on life since they’d shared body and soul, but one thing remained the same. Starsky worried himself sick when Hutch was out of touch, especially if they were involved in a case.

Starsky left the entertainment room to pace in the foyer, beer in hand. His black, knee high boots made an odd clicking sound. He was still wearing his elaborate, navy blue chauffeur uniform with its double row of shiny buttons on the jacket and breeches tucked into the boots. Starsky yearned for his jeans and Adidas. Sneakers were much better and quieter when pacing. But until Hutch walked through the door, he wanted to be ready to run - or drive in this case.

The sound of Hutch's key in the lock brought him to a standstill. He put down his beer in anticipation.

The door opened and Starsky took in the sight of his gorgeous partner.

Hutch was tantalizing in a form fitting, tailored Armani tux. This particular assignment had called for something that bespoke riches and a rented suit just wouldn’t do. The suit came with two ruffled shirts: classic blue and classic white. Hutch had chosen the blue one this night. In the soft light of the doorway, Hutch's eyes reflected the blue of the shirt and the stress of being undercover. 

Hutch was working as Hugo Masterson, an artist and art collector from Duluth, who was currently staying at a friend's splendid Bay City mansion. The mansion actually belonged to a friend of the Mayor’s who didn't seem to mind if a few of BC's finest used the place, as long as they kept an eye on his own collection of modern art. It was made known that Masterson was not above looking the other way as per the source of the works he bought. He was also not above acting as a fence for the hotter items.

Hutch stayed at the mansion with his chauffeur, David Miles, a.k.a., Starsky, so he would be seen coming and going. But tonight Masterson had been told to give David the night off since he was to be picked up by their suspected murderer and thief, Bren Ganson, and taken to a gala opening at City Gallery.

Hutch closed the door behind him as Starsky approached. Starsky silently slipped his arms into Hutch’s open jacket and pulled him close. Hutch closed his eyes, rested his head on Starsky's shoulder and returned the embrace. Tension rolled off Hutch's body like gentle thunder. Starsky let go of a breath he'd been holding, then stood back to scrutinize his partner.

"Sky, I hate it when you're under without me watchin' your back, even for a single night."

"I know. But I think we got it. Tomorrow Ganson wants to deal. He's definitely got the Picasso, Steel. A real Picasso! 'Mains aux Fleurs', you know the one with a hand giving a bouquet of flowers to another? Oh, God! I can't wait to see it."

Starsky frowned.

"This scum is a murderer, Sky. He killed the couple he stole the Picasso from. You gotta get your priorities in line here, babe. Don't let your guard down."

Hutch played with the buttons on Starsky's uniform and smiled at Starsky's worried pout.

"I'm fine, it's almost over. I'm going to miss this uniform on you, Steel, especially the cap. I love how you look in that cap...and nothing else." Hutch purred in Starsky's ear.

Starsky kissed Hutch's cheek, then his waiting lips. But then he pulled away suddenly.

"You taste funny. You smell funny too. You been smokin', Hutch? The funny stuff? And that ain't your aftershave I smell!"

Hutch let go of Starsky and stepped away. He tugged at his black tie and loosened the collar of his ruffled shirt. 

"Starsky, I'm under! I've got to get Bren to trust me. So I took a toke or two, and let him get friendly. That's the job. Right?"

"How friendly did Bren get, buddy boy?"

"Friendly enough for me to make the deal, that's all you need to know, buddy boy!” 

Hutch's angry echo reverberated in the quiet house. He turned from Starsky and made his way to the entertainment room with its state of the art sound system, built in bar and baby grand piano in front of the French doors that lead to the outdoor hot tub. Modern art paintings brought bright color to the soft amber colored walls.

 

Hutch sat on the black leather couch and hid his head in his hands. Starsky returned to his discarded beer and took three large gulps. He put his cheap beer down on a expensive looking side table and slowly walked over to Hutch. He placed his hand on Hutch's head and played gently with the silky blond hair.

"Sorry, Sky."

"Steel? I love you. I would never hurt you. It's all a game, a meaningless act. I only gave him a taste of what might be. I'd never give away anything that belongs to you."

"I know. I just...got a bad feelin' about this deal. Tell me the details."

.oOOo.

Starsky was back in his well-worn jeans and Adidas, along with his favorite Grand Funk Railroad T-shirt and distressed brown leather jacket. He sat anxiously behind the wheel of Hutch's old LTD. He switched on the wipers and watched as the blades squeaked and turned the light covering of mist on the windshield to dirty streaks and smears. Eventually, the worn rubber blades formed semi-circles of clarity and the mansion Hutch was waiting in came into view.

Starsky hated the plan but he couldn't figure out why. He had plenty of input and they had plenty of backup. Bren Ganson was picking Hutch up at nine p.m. at the mansion. Hutch was ready with a briefcase containing two million dollars. The undetectable counterfeit and marked bills courtesy of the FBI were locked away in the mansion's safe till the Picasso was safely in Hutch's hands.

Ganson would take Hugo Masterson to where he hid the Picasso then return to the mansion and exchange money for art. Ganson planned to take a flight to New York at midnight.

Starsky couldn't figure out why Ganson wanted Hutch to see his hiding place. And the three hours till his flight worried him. Hutch wasn't sure what Ganson had planned, but he had suggested to Hutch that he wear his tux. Even though the plan was to arrest Ganson as soon as Hutch had the Picasso, he hated thinking about how Ganson might choose to say goodbye to his partner. Hutch was sure he had gained Ganson's trust. But Starsky's active imagination kept playing him scenes of murder and/or passion. Both scenarios making Starsky equally anxious.

Starsky clenched the steering wheel tighter and tighter till his knuckles turned white. He had to force himself to calm down and not go screaming into the night, grabbing Hutch and putting him in the trunk for safekeeping.

”The trunk on this tank is big enough,” he chuckled nervously to himself. He hit the wipers again as a heavy rain began to fall.

.oOOo.

At eight thirty, a burgundy, 1976 Lincoln Town Car pulled into the long drive. Starsky used his binoculars to get a good look at the sleek, classic automobile. 

He noticed the rear opera window had a signature below it. This was was a designer model - Emilio Pucci, to be exact.

“Pretentious asshole." Starsky watched as Ganson got out of the car.

Bren Ganson was Starsky's height and weight. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a black velvet ribbon. He turned his head in Starsky's direction. A single diamond stud earring caught a fleeting ray from a street light and glittered briefly. He pulled his tux jacket back into alignment and smoothed his already smooth hair then quickly ran up the steps to Hutch's door trying to dodge the raindrops.

Starsky dropped his binoculars but continued to observe Ganson who found shelter from the wet under the covered entryway and rang the bell. Hutch immediately opened the door and greeted Ganson with a wide smile. Hutch was silhouetted in the doorway, the outside security light making him glow, while Ganson faded to the shadows. 

Hutch wasn't fully dressed yet. His white ruffled shirt was undone at the neck and only part way tucked in. His blond hair moved and shimmered as he finished the job and beckoned Ganson to enter.

"Damn it, Hutch! Why you gotta advertise what ya got. That prick is droolin' as it is. It woulda killed ya to meet him all buttoned up and with your tie on?" 

Starsky got a vivid image of Bren Ganson helping Hutch tie his tie. He found himself reaching for his gun, so he took a deep breath and shook his head.

"It'll be over soon, Starsky. Get a grip," he told himself. “And shuddup with the talkin’ to yourself while you’re at it.” 

.oOOo.

Hutch closed the door and motioned towards the full bar in the corner of the entertainment room.

"Please, Bren. Make yourself a drink while I finish dressing. I won't be a minute."

Bren grabbed his arm.

"I could help... with your tie, Hugo."

Bren’s slight accent had a European flavor that Hutch could never quite place. It might be affectation, but it was effective.

"I can manage."

Bren did not let go.

"Bren?"

Bren loosened his grip and turned it into a caress. Then he let go and turned towards the bar.

"As you wish."

Hutch blushed. He had been playing Hugo as a shy but willing, potential lover. Building Bren's interest and hopefully making him think he was falling for Bren's seductive arts.

Hutch took Bren's hand at the last possible minute and gently squeezed.

"Make yourself at home," he said softly. 

Bren went to the well-stocked bar and poured himself a snifter of cognac. He swirled the amber fluid in the glass and took a sip.

Hutch finished tying his tie and pulled on his jacket. At Starsky's insistence a small but efficient knife was tucked into his expensive Italian half-boots. He was ready. He joined Bren at the bar.

"Bren? Why do you want me to know your hiding place? I'm more than willing for you to bring the Picasso here if it is more convenient for you."

"I have my reasons. Would you like a drink before we go, Hugo?"

"Oh... no... thanks... maybe later?"

"It is quite good. Taste." Bren brought the snifter to Hutch’s lips, gently pouring the drink warmed by his own hand into Hutch’s slightly opened mouth. Bren took the glass away and placed his own lips there instead, insinuating his tongue into Hutch’s wet mouth.

"It tastes best when warmed by body heat, don't you think, Hugo?"

 

Hutch felt the flush of the kiss and the cognac warm his body. He thought of Starsky worrying outside in the rain. He could almost feel him vibrating with apprehension. Time to get this show on the road, literally.

"Delicious, Bren. But business before pleasure. I can't truly enjoy myself till we conclude our... exchange." Hutch hoped he sounded seductive, but determined.

"Very well. A taste is sometimes as good as a meal."

Bren put his glass down on the bar.

"Shall we go then?"

Hutch smiled and nodded.

.oOOo.

Rain had been falling steadily for an hour with no sign of stopping. There was little wind. It was as if a black cloud was situated over Bay City, happy to soak the residents in a never ending downpour. Starsky wanted to curse the fat, gray drops, but it was giving him good cover as he followed Ganson's car.

Ganson was definitely heading towards the Bayshore area. He took a winding scenic route, passing trendy neighborhoods with private beaches and upscale seafood restaurants that faded into an area of the shore held hostage by deserted motels and tourist traps.

Starsky checked again with the backup that was assigned to him for the night. Three black and whites with experienced officers handpicked by Starsky. They were keeping a discreet distance with Starsky at point. He trusted each man to have Hutch's back and each man knew what would happen to them if they failed and Hutch came to harm.

Finally Ganson took a left onto a nameless street.  
Starsky felt a shiver go down his spine. He knew where this road led. When he was thirteen he had ridden his bike here on a warm summer night on a dare. 

"Oh, God, Hutch. Why here?" he whispered. 

Starsky decided to cut the LTD's lights and follow blindly. He couldn't risk letting Ganson see him. Starsky squinted his eyes in the dark and the rain, trying to see the road. It was paved but hadn't been used in years.

 

Starsky followed the Town Car almost to the bay, then pulled off the road. He got on the radio and instructed the black and whites to wait at the main highway and not let anyone enter or exit the abandoned road. There would be no escape for Ganson. Now all he had to do was retrieve Hutch and the Picasso.

Starsky made his way to the dilapidated bridge that haunted his nightmares. The wooden bridge was in worse shape than when he last rode his bike across it. Several boards were now completely gone, as were the rails on the right side. The whole structure listed to the right. Disuse had left it covered with moss and algae hung from the rotting posts like shredded curtains waving in a watery breeze.

The bridge made its way across the bay to a tiny island, not more than a sandbar. A carnival once stood here, bright with lights and the faces of young people in love. It had been a hot spot during the ‘40’s war years and even a few years after WWll ended. 

 

Pretty girls and handsome soldiers came out to the carnival for a night of merry-making before the soldiers headed overseas to face perhaps an untimely death. Dancing and live bands were the order of the day, along with a fun house and carnival games. Young men taught to shoot a named enemy relaxed and shot tin ducks just to hear the admiring "Oohs" and "Ahs" of their dates. The music and laughter of youth traveled across the bay and gladdened the hearts of those who could hear. 

 

Now the carnival had been ravaged by time, weather and negligence. The skeletal remains of empty building, barely holding together in the wind and rain, cast strange shadows on the bay. The dance floor by the beach, once gaily lit by strings of white lights, was now hung with dark necklaces of shattered glass bulbs.

 

Starsky lifted his binoculars, then had to take a moment to clean the rain off the lenses. He brought them back to his eyes and watched as Ganson and Hutch exited the Town Car and stepped out of the rain and onto the partially covered dance floor.

 

In the dark, Hutch’s hair seemed the only light spot in a shadowy world. The blond head turned this way and that taking in his surroundings. Hutch turned towards Starsky and he held his breath, willing Hutch to know he was watching him. Then Ganson appeared with a flashlight and took Hutch's arm, turning him towards a decayed cafe'.

 

Starsky desperately wanted to cross the bridge and take Ganson out. But this was Hutch's call. And Hutch wanted the Picasso unharmed. Starsky leaned against a palm tree and waited. At least the rain was fading away.

.oOOo.

Hutch looked around the desolate carnival. The only way out was the bridge or a frigid swim across the bay. He hoped his acting skills would last just a little longer. He stopped. A proverbial arrow went right through his heart. He suddenly felt warm and protected. Starsky was watching. He knew it. Ganson came towards him with a flashlight and took his arm. Hutch felt almost jubilant. Like the rain, the case was almost over.

"What do you think of my little carnival, Hugo? It is really mine, you know. I found it and bought the property for a song. I may even build a house here someday, would you like that?"

"It would be a beautiful place for a summer home. Repairing that old bridge would cost a pretty penny, though."

Bren chuckled.

"Not really a problem for us, Hugo. Come, I think I've kept you waiting long enough and this place is very creepy.”

Hutch tried not to let on that he noticed Bren said "us." 

"That it is, Bren. That it is."

 

“Later, I thought we might enjoy a night of games at my private club."

 

Hutch’s lip curled at Bren’s choice of words. Games indeed.

 

Bren led Hutch to an old aluminum and steel cooler box. It was about the size of a refrigerator lying on its side. It had been painted a bright red and a picture of a bobby soxer with a sea glass green bottle in her hand was smiling and offering Hutch an “oke,” the “C” long since rusted away.

"The Picasso is in this?" Hutch was shocked.

"Oh! Your face, my friend. Wait until I open it."

Inside the old Coke cooler was a state-of-the-art safe. In a few quick moves, partially hidden from Hutch, Ganson had it open and took out a long, tubular waterproof armored case, a white cloth and a pair of white gloves. He spread the cloth on a nearby table and opened the case. He handed the gloves to Hutch.

"Put these on and take the painting out of the tube, then lay it out on the cloth. We should only leave it out until you are sure it is authentic. Take great care, Hugo."

Hutch did as Bren instructed. He gasped as he beheld the brushstrokes of a master. Even in the light of a flashlight Bren held, the colors of the flowers glowed like a warm summer’s day.

 

Hutch leaned closer as he examined the black hands holding the bouquet. He could see for himself the master’s genius. He held his breath wondering how such a minimal, seemingly effortless brushstrokes on canvas could evoke such feelings of brotherhood and love from his soul.

 

"Ooooo, Bren. It's...It's... magnificent!"

Bren put a hand on Hutch's neck, massaging gently.

"Magnificent, yes. Hugo, I have brought you here because I want you to have this place. This hiding place can be our home. I will built you a house as beautiful as your soul. I want you to be my partner in every sense of the word. I want you and I...I am in love with you."

 

Suddenly the jukebox in the corner lit up. A 45 turned and flipped onto the turntable. The crooning voice of Bing Crosby filled the air, louder than any old speaker ever before.

 

Come to me my melancholy baby  
Cuddle up and don’t be blue  
All your fears are foolish fancies baby  
You know dear that I’m in love with you

 

The lights on the dance floor started to glow despite the bulbs having burned out decades ago.

Every cloud must have a silver lining.  
Wait until the sun shines through.  
Smile, my honey dear  
While I kiss away each tear  
Or else I shall be melancholy too.

Hutch carefully put the Picasso back in its case then turned to Bren who was looking around in puzzlement.

"Hugo! There is no electricity here. How is this possible?"

"I... I... don't know, but I suggest we leave, now."

Hutch took Bren's arm in a death grip. 

"But, Hugo! What I said!"

Hutch took a deep breath. The Picasso was under his arm. He was so close. Just a ride away from Starsky and safety. He thought about just knocking Bren out, but somehow he couldn't. He felt confused. Was he falling for a murdering art thief? Maybe Hugo Masterson was, but he reminded himself he wasn't really Hugo Masterson. He was Hutch, Starsky's Hutch. That's how he defined himself now and hopefully for a long time to come.

"I believe I love you too, Bren." He gave Bren a soft look as he lied. "Let's go back to the mansion and I will show you how much... Oh! God!"

They both turned towards the dance floor and their eyes opened wide in horror.

 

The previously deserted dance floor was now full of couples dressed in the fashion of a bygone era and dancing to Bing Crosby’s tune. The couples looked happy even though they were obviously quite dead. Their faces were bloated white, seaweed and muck dripped from their hair.

 

When a lone woman beckoned to Hutch from across the room for a dance Bren screamed. Hutch grabbed him and ran for the car, the Picasso in its protective tube still under his arm.

.oOOo.

Across the bay Starsky heard the music. He saw the lights flicker on.

"No! No! Not again!" he cried.

He knew what was going to happen next. He remembered from when he was thirteen. The spooks were coming back. All the dead souls that had drowned in the bay. They wanted to dance at the carnival once more. Only this time they had Hutch at their party.

"That is unacceptable!" he yelled at the phantom dancers.

Starsky saw Hutch and Ganson run to the car. He ran back to the LTD to radio his backup to get ready to stop the Town Car. He wanted to get Hutch and the painting out of there immediately no matter what Hutch said. There was no need for Hutch to ever speak to Ganson again. Ever. He made himself clear and trusted his men to carry out his orders. 

 

Starsky got in the LTD. He knew Ganson couldn't see him, so as soon as he drove by he planned to follow behind with lights off. In a few minutes it would be over. And he'd have his lover back in his arms safe and sound.

Ganson hit the bridge at full speed.

Starsky heard the old pilings give way with a heartstopping crack. He watched in horror as the bridge collapsed into the deep water, taking the Town Car with it.

"Huuuuutch! Noooooooo!"

 

.oOOo.

Hutch knew he was in trouble yet felt oddly calm. As the heavy car hit the water he was thrown into the back seat. Water rapidly filled the car through the shattered driver side window, but Hutch blessed their luck that they’d be able to escape out that way. He quickly looked at Ganson and saw that his head was at an odd angle. Hutch fell into the front seat. He felt Ganson's neck for a pulse. There was none. His neck was broken.

Hutch grabbed for the Picasso as the water reached his neck, then let it drop. For the time being, it was safer than he was in its waterproof case. He pushed Ganson to one side, took a deep breath of air from the small pocket left near the roof and began to climb out the broken window, trying unsuccessfully not to cut himself. But something grabbed onto his sleeve, holding him fast. He turned to see what what snagged him and found himself looking into Ganson's dead eyes and smiling face. 

 

The corpse held tight to Hutch with both hands as Hutch kicked and flailed to free himself. His lungs were on fire and screaming for release. He reached into his boot and took out the knife. He hacked at Ganson's death grip, striking himself on the arm and drawing blood as he tried to cut at the strong hands holding him. The exertion caused him to breathe out and, despite his efforts to control it, he breathed back in. Water rushed into the emptiness of his lungs.

Hutch stared into the Ganson's grinning face and wide open, yet unseeing eyes. He gave a final tug and his vision went gray. He dropped the knife, knowing he was about to die. A few air bubbles rose from his mouth as Hutch gave into the blackness all around him. His last thoughts were of Starsky's strong arms embracing him, claiming him, trying to save him from his fate.

 

"Steel, I love you, I'm sorry." 

 

 

.oOOo.

Starsky screamed into the radio handset. "Officer down! Officer down!" and threw it with a sputter of static out of his way. He jumped out of the LTD and ran to the bridge, discarding his binoculars, gun and jacket as he ran. His feet left flying clumps of sandy mud behind him.

"No! You bastards can't have him! He's mine! He's mine!" Starsky screamed at the shimmering carnival dancers. They shook with maniacal laughter, as the music played on and on.

Come to me my melancholy baby  
Cuddle up and don't be blue  
All your fears are foolish fancies baby  
You know dear that I'm in love with you

Starsky scaled what was left of the bridge and dived into the black water of the bay, leaving glistening rounds of disturbed water in his wake. He reached the submerged car in less than a minute, its shining hulk still settling in the soft sand of the bay's bottom.

 

Starsky found Hutch’s body floating half way out of the driver's window, his blond hair waved in the unseen currents. He wrapped his arms around Hutch and pulled but Hutch was stuck fast. Starsky reluctantly released him and swam frantically to the surface for one more lungful of air.

Starsky dived again and peered into the car to see what was holding Hutch. Ganson turned his head slowly on his broken neck and glared at Starsky. Starsky froze and almost breathed out from shock as he realized it was Ganson who was holding Hutch back, his putrid fingers latched onto Hutch’s sleeve. 

 

Adrenaline surged through his body. Ganson was dead. Already taken by the bay. But there was no way he’d let these spooks take his Hutch as another victim. He couldn’t yell, but his mind screamed, “Mine! Never yours! Mine!” 

 

He looked at Hutch’s face, pale and beautiful as the hands of death caressed his features. Starsky knew he was in a battle for Hutch’s soul along with his body. Starsky took his own last breath and gave Hutch a living kiss, trying to will his lover to breathe again.

 

With only a few moments of Hutch’s life left, Starsky gripped him firmly under his armpits. He braced his feet against the car and glared defiantly at Ganson. Starsky pulled with the desperation of life and death until the shoulder seam of Hutch's jacket gave way. Starsky then pulled him out of the window and back up to the surface of the bay.

 

Starsky broke the surface of the dark water and gasped for air, while lifting his precious burden’s head out of the bay. He was surprised when Hutch grabbed at him, spitting out water, sputtering and trying to fill his lungs with air. 

 

Hutch’s eyes were wild with terror. He looked around seeing things that were not there. The blood mixed with water coming from his arm colored his white shirt a sickly pink before disappearing into the thirsty mouth of the bay around him.

 

“Hutch! Hutch! I’ve got you. You’re all right. Just hold on to me, I’ll get us to shore.”

 

“Stars… ?” Hutch choked on the word and held on to his partner. “Bren… “

 

Starsky frowned at Hutch’s using Ganson’s first name. “He’s dead, Hutch. Come on, babe.”

 

Starsky swam towards shore, pulling Hutch along and keeping his head above the cursed water. Several of the backup cops were waiting on the bank to dive in if needed. Fisk and Brody, two rookies Starsky and Hutch had a hand in training, were already wading into the black water, each reaching for a partner. The flashing red lights, worried shouts and brusque orders coming from the shore were like a balm to Starsky’s soul.

In the murky water at the bottom of the bay, what was left of Bren Ganson grasped the torn sleeve of Hutch’s coat and slowly closed its eyes.


	2. Cuddle up and don’t be blue

Starsky paced the small examination room in Memorial’s ER like a panther at the zoo. Hutch was stretched out on an exam table, one arm under his head and the other shielding his eyes from the bright lights. A white bandage around his lower arm showed a small patch of red where seven stitches were needed A dozen cuts on his hands and face from broken glass were covered with butterfly closures and simple band aids. 

 

Hutch’s wet clothes and boots were already packed away by Starsky in a plastic bag in the corner. They had been exchanged for dry surgical scrubs and thin hospital slippers. Starsky had changed into the spare clothes he kept in the LTD, wondering absently why Hutch had everything else in his car except his own spare change of clothes. 

 

He was wondering a lot of things. Like what the hell had really happened and why Hutch, thank heaven, had survived with no severe injuries. The last thought made him shiver and he sent his feet back to his quiet partner and stroked Hutch’s damp, spiky hair.

 

“Hey, babe. You with me still?”

 

Hutch moved his arm away from his eyes and turned towards Starsky with a soft groan.

 

“Yeah, Starsk. I’m doing good. I… It’s just I feel kind of strange, maybe… like something’s left undone?”

 

“Babe, you did a great job. The divers got the Picasso. It was unharmed and yeah, Ganson got dead, but that wasn’t your fault. He was a murderer, Hutch. He got what he deserved. You just need some of Starsky’s special TLC. The Doc will be here in a minute to check you over one last time. I’ll take you home, babe and we’ll put this whole crazy case behind us.”

 

“He loved me.”

 

Starsky froze. “What the hell, Hutch?”

 

“I… I.... Bran told me he loved me, Starsk. Wanted to build us a home on that island. That was his plan. I… just… I don’t know what this is I’m... I’m feeling.”

 

A wave of fear tore through Starsky’s heart. “You got feelings for that lowlife? You loved him?”

 

“What?” Hutch sat up and gripped the cold metal exam table as his head spun, but he ignored it and reached for Starsky pulling him in for a hug. “No, baby. No. Nothing like that. I love you, Starsky. Only and forever. I’m yours and yours alone. You know that. You should know that, baby.”

 

Starsky held Hutch even closer. “You scared me, Hutch. A second ago and all through this case. I can’t lose you. This was way too close.”

 

Hutch nodded and swallowed a lump in his throat. He closed his eyes and let Starsky take his weight, suddenly feeling very tired.

 

Starsky moved his head back a few inches and reached for Hutch’s chin, lifting it up and watching the sky blue eyes he loved try to focus on him. “Hey, you said you were feeling strange, what did you mean?” 

 

Hutch sighed, “I… I… feel like… like I shouldn’t be alive, Starsk. Like I’m living on borrowed time. Like a ghost Hutch, just a haunting…”

 

Starsky stroked Hutch’s cheek, avoiding his cuts and scrapes, transforming the chill Hutch’s words sent down his spine with warm tenderness towards the man he loved.

 

“Hutch. I understand more than you know. I felt the same way a long, long time ago. You need to shake it off. It’s not true. You are very alive and so am I.” 

 

Hutch wondered what Starsky knew, but couldn’t clear his head enough to form the words he wanted to ask. Instead he just breathed in his Starsky’s scent, now a little musky from his swim in the bay.

 

Starsky placed a kiss on Hutch’s lips and ran his fingers through his hair. Hutch’s lips were cold and Starsky did his best to breath fire into Hutch’s soul. Hutch responded like the drowning man he was just hours ago. Starsky was fire. Starsky was breath. Starsky was life.

 

The examination room door opened and Dr. Vernet entered carrying a can of soda and two sandwiches from the doctor’s lounge. Vernet, head trauma surgeon, was on call for Starsky and Hutch’s ER visits. He knew them both, especially Hutch who reminded him of his own policeman son, very well inside and out.

 

Dr. Vernet was well aware of the partners’ relationship. He and his own partner, Patrick, had dined with them twice since Starsky and Hutch became a couple a few months ago. He liked to think he had a hand in that happening. 

“Get a room is such a cliche’. But I would suggest you two at least wait until you get into the Torino.”

 

The partners broke apart with twin smiles aimed at the older, grayhaired man who was their doctor, mentor and friend.

 

“First off, Ken, eat some of this sandwich and drink half that soda. I just know your low blood sugar is out of whack. Then tell me what happened. Oh, the other sandwich is for you, Dave. Just because I like you.”

 

Starsky’s face lit up. “Thanks, Doc. I’m starving.” He busied himself unwrapping a turkey on whole wheat and placing in his fading partner’s hand along with the now opened soda can. But not before taking a healthy swig. Then he jumped on the exam table sitting as close to Hutch as possible and sunk his teeth into the roast beef sandwich he scored for himself.

 

Dr, Vernet waited patiently for the two to settle, watching Hutch’s every move with a clinical eye. He sighed quietly at what he saw. Hutch was pale and lethargic, his hands were trembling a bit. He started to warm up his stethoscope and move closer.

 

“So? Tell me the tale. What happened this time.”

 

Hutch swallowed his bite of sandwich and opened his mouth to speak, but Starsky beat him to it. “You eat. I’ll tell.” Hutch shrugged.

 

Starsky told Vernet everything he needed to know about Hutch’s injuries glossing over the supernatural aspects.

 

Dr, Vernet grew more concerned as he gleaned the medical facts out of the story. He checked Hutch’s lungs and blood pressure. He moved Starsky out of the way to fully examine Hutch for hidden or internal injuries. He helped him to sit up and began removing the bandage on his arm to check the work of his young Resident who had seen Hutch first.

 

“Dizzy, when you sit up, Ken?”

 

“No, it’s better now, Doc, after I ate. I really feel fine. I just want to go home and get some sleep.”

 

Dr. Vernet nodded. “You seem to be fine. I would expect some problems with your throat, maybe nausea, and congested lungs, but they sound very clear. Do you need pain meds for your arm?”

 

“Nope. Doesn’t hurt.”

 

Dr. Vernet held Hutch’s arm and turned it gently towards the light. The seven stitches were satisfactory and the wound seemed to already be healing. The doctor noticed the bruising above it. Something seemed to be off. They should have been reddish blue at this early stage, but the bruise was as black as an ink tattoo. He turned Hutch’s arm a bit more and heard Starsky gasp.

 

“Jeez. It looks like a handprint. From a skeleton.”

 

The doctor smoothed his hand over the bruise. “Ken? What is this from? It’s very strange.”

 

Hutch looked at Starsky and then down at his arm. He began to tremble. The blood drained from his face and he tensed and grabbed the doctor’s elbow for support.

 

“He marked me. He wanted me and he marked me. Will it go away, Doc? Please… I… I… can’t…”

 

“Ken. It’s alright. Just breath. Nice even breaths. Good. That’s it.” Dr. Vernet motioned to Starsky to take over. “Ken. It’s just an odd bruise. It will be gone in a week, I’m sure. I’m going to give you a shot, okay? Something mild, non-narcotic, just to help you relax.”

 

As the doctor moved away, Starsky gathered Hutch in his arms.

 

“I got you, babe. Nothin’ gonna hurt ya while you’re with me, sweetheart. And I ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight.”

 

Hutch held on to Starsky like he would never let go. “Starsk? What’s wrong with me? I… I… feel so terrified, but I know nothing’s really wrong.”

 

Dr. Vernet answered instead. “You just had a major trauma, Ken. I’m actually glad to see your body react in some way. It means you’re coming back to yourself after an adrenaline rush, even though it doesn’t feel like it.”

 

The doctor gave Hutch the shot, applied another band aid over the injection site and re-bandaged his arm. He decided to cover the bruise with some light gauze so Hutch wouldn’t have to constantly look at it.

 

“Okay then. Dave,” Dr. Vernet was used to the partners taking care of each other. “I’m giving him an antibiotic just to be safe. And the mild sedative I just gave him in pill form. You dispense those as need be. Keep an eye on him. If any problems develop overnight, call me. I’m on duty and you can bring him back in,” he placed an arm on Hutch’s shoulder. “You are a lucky man, Ken. It’s strange that you are doing so well, but I certainly am glad.”

 

“Thanks, Doc. I can go?”

 

Dr. Vernet nodded and wrote out two prescriptions quickly on a pad. He handed them to Starsky.

 

“Call me, Dave. For any reason.” They exchanged concerned looks. Starsky nodded in understanding. Hutch needed to be watched carefully and Starsky was just the man to do it.

 

.oOOo.

 

Starsky decided that Hutch would rest better at his canal house surrounded by his green leafy familiars. He talked to Dobey and had permission to come in late the next day to give their statements and tie up the paperwork. They both had some clothes and things at the mansion they had to pick up including the FBI’s two million dollars in counterfeit bills and Starsky’s beer. Dobey also agreed to Starsky’s demand that if Hutch so much as sneezed he was taking him to see Dr.Vernet, loose ends and the FBI be damned.

 

Hutch had fallen asleep on the couch almost as soon as they arrived. Starsky decided to take advantage of his partner’s down time and shower, change into a t-shirt and shorts, then order pizza and soda for delivery. He thought that a nap would be good for his lover, followed by some comfort food and maybe later a hot bath, since Hutch had to keep his stitches dry and couldn’t shower.

 

Starsky was rubbing his wet hair briskly with a towel when the doorbell rang. He threw his towel on one of Hutch’s mismatched wooden chairs and grabbed his wallet from the dining room table.

 

Hutch moved and murmured in his sleep. Opening his eyes groggily, he saw he was at home. He vaguely remembered getting there.

 

“Steel? Baby? Wha’s goin’ on?”

 

“Just payin’ for the pizza, Sky. Ya gotta eat. I got you mushroom, double cheese.”

 

Hutch sat up and smiled as Starsky juggled his wallet, two pizzas and a six pack of Pepsi. He dropped everything on the dining room table and gave Hutch a hand up, pulling him close and giving him a quick noisey kiss.

 

“How ya feelin’, Hutch? ‘Cause you’re feelin’ real good to me right now.” Starsky gave Hutch an exaggerated hug.

 

“I feel good, you clown. Just kinda sleepy. I could eat.”

 

Starsky smiled and let go. He pulled out a chair for Hutch. “Sit. Eat!”

 

Hutch chuckled and took the pizza Starsky dished out to him. It tasted warm and spicey and better than it should have. He felt like his senses were heightened. He was enjoying his pizza slice so much he didn’t notice Starsky watching him with a curious expression.

 

“Wha’? Pizza… good,” Hutch said with a full mouth.

 

Starsky raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Ya want juice? Soda? Maybe coffee?”

 

“Share… soda… good.”

 

Starsky laughed. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

 

“Umm… more.”

 

Starsky chalked Hutch’s behavior up to the shot Doc gave him. Besides, Hutch was safe and really cute right now.

 

“I love you, Hutch.” Starsky said as he gave him another slice of mushroom double cheese.

 

Hutch stopped chewing and swallowed. He took Starsky’s hand. “I love you, too. Thanks for saving me, baby and buying me pizza.”

 

“Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.”

 

.oOOo.

 

Starsky kept the conversation light for now and Hutch had a pleasant pain-free buzz from good drugs, good food and good company. Starsky’s offer to help him take a bath with Starsky’s spa quality blondie shampoo thrown in free of charge. It sounded like heaven to Hutch.

 

Starsky stripped Hutch of surgical scrubs he was still wearing and threw them at to the hamper next to Hutch’s ruined tux to be discarded. He didn’t want to be reminded of what almost happened today. He eased Hutch into the tub of steamy water when it was a quarter full and started on his hair, Taking care to keep his bandaged arm dry. Hutch seemed to be more distracted than usual. He had to be reminded twice to hold his arm out of the tub, and just let Starsky take care of him.

 

Starsky massaged Hutch’s scalp with herbal shampoo.

 

“Ooooo. Steel. That feels so… ummmm… “

 

Starsky stopped a moment and smiled down at his gorgeous Hutch. “You want I should massage somethin’ else when I get through with your hair?”

 

“Ummmmm.” Hutch closed his eyes and listened to the running water. He felt the soapy warm water flow through his hair and down his back when the shampoo was rinsed. He heard distorted words coming from far away.

 

Starsky frowned. “Hutch? Did you hear me?”

 

The tub was nearly full and Hutch tried to sink lower into the waiting water.

 

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s arm once again to stop it from getting wet.

 

“Hey! Babe! What ya doin’? Ya gotta keep your arm and face dry. Ya hear me?”

 

Hutch gasped and looked down at his arm. Skeletal fingers held him tight. He heard the water pouring into the tub, then silence as someone turned it off. In the silence a voice carried to him by the soft sound of lapping water. He heard Bren’s laughter like drips of water forming circles of tension.

 

“I am in love with you, Hugo. Did you think I’d let you go? You belong with me now.”

 

Hutch looked at the man by his side with horror-filled eyes. His loving partner had transformed into the hideous image of Bren. His face white, his lips black, his long hair floating and his eye sockets half empty, eaten out by the scavengers of the bay.

 

Hutch jerked away and sunk beneath the water as if he had been pushed under by force.

 

“Fuck! Hutch!” 

 

Starsky lurched forward to haul Hutch’s head back to the surface. But felt was a resistance he couldn’t understand. As if a heavy weight was holding his lover down. 

 

Beneath the water Hutch’s eyes were open wide in terror. Air bubbles came out of his mouth and burst on the surface from his silent scream.

 

Somewhere in the distance a tinny radio played.

 

Come to me my melancholy baby  
Cuddle up and don’t be blue

 

Starsky used all of his strength to pull Hutch out of the tub. 

 

“No! No! Let him go!”

 

Hutch suddenly broke free from whatever had been holding him fast and fell on top of Starsky gasping for air. Water splashed everywhere as great waves followed Hutch and flooded the bathroom.

 

Starsky sat up and pulled Hutch close as he coughed and wheezed.

 

“Hutch? What the hell happened there?”

 

Hutch took a deep breath and coughed some more. “It was Bren. I saw him. He… he pushed me under the water. He tried to take… me with him.”

 

Starsky pulled at Hutch’s sopping wet head till it rested above his heart and held it there.

 

“They want you back.” Starsky whispered. 

 

.oOOo.

 

Dr. Vernet hardly ever made house calls. But for certain friends he made an exception. Like Starsky and Hutch.

 

The doctor sat next to Hutch taking his pulse one last time. Hutch was sedated, warm and dry, sleeping in heavy duty, black thermal underwear under blankets and an afghan piled high by his concerned other half. The doctor tucked Hutch’s re-bandaged arm under his cocoon and reached up to place his palm on his forehead to check his temperature. Dr. Vernet’s hand traveled up and smoothed the blond head in a fatherly fashion. Satisfied his patient was resting comfortably, he followed the smell of freshly brewing coffee to join Starsky in the kitchen.

 

Starsky had used every towel Hutch owned to get Hutch, the bathroom floor and himself dry. When he was sure Hutch was safe in the Doc’s hands, he busied himself with washing still dripping towels and making coffee. He looked up as the Doc entered and handed him a steaming mug. They both sat at Hutch’s table sipping coffee and speaking quietly.

 

“Physically, he’s fine, Dave. There is no sign of a head trauma. His lungs are still surprisingly clear even after another near drowning. But these… hallucinations, for lack of a better term, have me worried. It not that far outside the norm after a near death experience. Perhaps he’s having side effects from the shot I gave him earlier.”

 

The Doc took another sip of his coffee as he contemplated possible answers.

 

“Doc, I know you think I’m goin’ batty, but somethin’ held Hutch under the water in the tub. I was right there. Didn’t let him out of my sight for a second.”

 

“Are you saying there is a spirit trying to drown Ken?”

 

Starsky put his mug down distractedly and some of his coffee sloshed out and burned his hand. He shook his hand and cursed. “Damn. Doc I don’t know what to think. But I’ve seen strange things at that old carnival before.”

 

“When I was thirteen, the neighborhood guys were into daring each other to do crazy stuff. I got dared to ride my bike to the carnival after dark and bring back a burned out light bulb from the strings of lights they used on the dance floor.”

 

“You took the dare?”

 

“Yeah. I thought it would be a cinch. The scariest part for me was what would happen if my Aunt found out.” 

 

Dr. Vernet chuckled. “I had an Auntie like that.”

 

Starsky continued. “The guys said the old carnival was haunted. They said that if you drowned in the bay it claims your soul. The bay gives up her souls on cloudy, moonless nights and they go to the carnival and dance. They never find peace.”

 

Doc put down his mug. “I heard a story similar to that. It was a German folktale I think about a lake of souls where the spirits of the dead dwelled. And then of course there’s the Lady in the Lake and King Arthur. Starsky, it’s just an old legend reinvented.”

 

“Well, I’d agree with ya, Doc. Exceptin’ for the fact that on that moonless night when I rode my bike to the carnival, I saw the spooks dancing with my own eyes. I heard the jukebox playing that creepy song.”

 

“What song was that?”

 

“Somethin’ about melancholy baby. I remember ‘cuz my ma used to listen to it on the radio when I was a kid.”

 

Dr, Vernet hummed a few notes, then filled in the lyrics. “Come to me my melancholy baby.”

 

“Yeah, that’s the one. Gives me the creeps even now.” Starsky paused as if wanting the story to end yet knowing it hadn’t. The worst was to come. He’d never spoken it aloud before tonight. 

 

“I was so scared I rode right off the bridge and lost my bike. And when I was in the water I felt hands tryin’ to drag me down. I thought I was a goner.” Starsky shook his shoulders as if still trying to shake off the hands that grabbed at him. “I scrambled outta there real quick and ran all the way home.”

 

Doc frowned and rubbed his hand over his face. “What did your Auntie do to you?”

 

“Nothin’. She never found out. I told her my bike was stolen. I never told a soul about it. Not the guys. Not my Aunt. Nobody. I let them tease me and call me chicken. Better than tellin’ them the truth. I had nightmares for months, every time it rained at night.”

 

Dr. Vernet pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Dave, did you tell Ken this story? Maybe it influenced his subconscious.”

 

“No. Nobody but you. Who’d believe me? After a year or two I didn’t even believe it happened, till it happened again.”

 

Dr. Vernet looked at his watch and sighed. “I’ve got to get some sleep. I don’t know what’s going on with Ken. But I’m not dismissing your story out of hand. I certainly haven’t lived this long without seeing some things that can’t be explained by science. But remember, Ken is my patient and I’ll do my best to get him through this and find some answers.”

 

He took a final sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “Call me tomorrow and tell me how he is in the morning. Here’s hoping a good night’s sleep was all he needed to get himself on an even keel.”

 

“Thanks, Doc. Do you think he should go to work tomorrow? We won’t be on the streets, just doin’ paperwork.”

 

“If he wakes up refreshed, I don’t see why not. But tell your Captain you need to keep an eye on him for a few days. He should probably see your precinct's psychologist if he has any more problems. Or I can recommend someone. People deal with near death experiences in a myriad of ways. I don’t want him to put you or himself in danger.”

 

“I think he may have to have a talk with our shrink before he gets a medical clearance anyway.”

 

The Doc stood and gathered his coat, keys and black bag. “Goodnight, Dave. Get some rest.”

 

“Thanks for everything, Doc. Give Patrick our love.”

 

Starsky walked the doctor out and locked the door. He shut off the lights, went to the bed alcove and watched his Hutch’s slow, but unhindered breaths. Hutch’s hair was dry now and it seemed to gather all the light left in the apartment, making him appear otherworldly. His face with its cuts and scrapes made him look vulnerable.

 

Starsky knew that his Hutch was strong and even intimidating when angered. But this was the man Starsky loved and if he needed to battle powers seen or unseen to keep him by his side he would do it. 

 

But right now he just wanted to hold him. Starsky undressed and crawled under the heap of blankets that covered his heart’s desire. 

 

As he snuggled close, Hutch turned towards him and murmured, “Umm, love, Stars.”

 

“Shhhh, sweetheart. Love you too.” Starsky grew warm in Hutch’s love and fell asleep.


	3. All your fears are foolish fancies baby

Starsky woke in a panic. Hutch was gone and he was hearing snippets of music. He stumbled naked out of bed and headed for the kitchen where he found Hutch banging cupboards and singing.

 

Gliddy glub gloopy  
Nibby nabby noopy  
La la la lo lo  
Sabba sibby sabba  
Nooby abba nabba  
Le le lo lo  
Tooby ooby walla  
Nooby abba naba  
Early morning singing song

 

Hutch noticed Starsky and his face lit up with a wide grin. He put down his cereal bowl and gathered him up in a bear hug.

 

“Good Morning, Starshine! It’s a beautiful day isn’t it? Hey. Is that a gun in your pocket or… wait you haven’t got any pockets.”

 

Hutch giggled and started nuzzling Starsky’s neck, placing wet kisses wherever he could reach and making Starsky squirm.

 

Starsky smiled at Hutch’s amorous advances. “Hutch. Hutch! Stop! You’re ticklin’ me… Oh! Hey! Cool your jets, hot shot, I ain’t ready blast off yet.”

 

Hutch pulled away and smiled. “Suit yourself. I think I’ll go for a run. I feel great this morning.”

 

“Whoa, Hutch. Whoa. You’re still in your thermals and anyway you ain’t leaving my sight today, buddy.”

 

Hutch looked down at himself and shrugged. “Well, alright. I’ll make us breakfast. Or better yet, we’ll both get dressed and we’ll go to breakfast together. We got time before work. I’ll buy. I’ve got a yen for blueberry waffles.”

 

Starsky watched as Hutch took himself to the bathroom as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He heard the sounds of teeth being brushed. Starsky smiled and headed towards the dresser to find some of his clothes. Maybe the Doc was right. Hutch had been exhausted and needed some dreamless sleep. Hutch continued singing as he shaved.

 

Good Morning Starshine  
The earth says hello  
You twinkle above us  
We twinkle below  
Good Morning Starshine  
You lead us along  
My love and me as we sing  
Our early morning singing song

 

Hutch was having some trouble shaving around the cuts on his face. He turned on the faucet to clean his razor of foam and tried to slow down. His peach fuzz shadow wasn’t that noticeable and he was thinking of giving it up as a lost cause for the day. He leaned into the mirror to examine his cheek when he saw a movement in the mirror.

 

He stared mesmerized as a dark form stepped out of the shadows. It was Bren. He was behind Hutch reaching for his arm.

 

Hutch spun around knocking his shaving cream can to the ground. It landed on the nozzle and sprayed foam across the bathroom floor. Hutch looked around frantically, wielding his razor as a weapon, inadequate though it was. But Bren was gone.

 

“Hutch? You okay in there babe?” called Starsky.

 

Hutch turned and took a deep breath. He gripped the sink and looked into the mirror again. He only saw his reflection and the deep set fear in his own eyes. “I’m fine, Starsk. I… I just dropped the shaving cream. I’m fine.”

 

Hutch closed his eyes and shook his head. He finished shaving, turned off the faucet and got dressed. He came out of the bathroom singing softly.

 

All your fears are foolish fancies baby

 

Starsky was almost ready, waiting in the kitchen. “I just gotta shave and brush the old molars, babe. Won’t be a minute.”

 

Starsky put an empty mug in the sink, then swiveled on his sneakered heels to take his turn in the bathroom. He stopped and stared at his partner. Starsky opened his mouth in shock.

 

Hutch stood in the doorway dressed in his filthy Armani tuxedo. Bow tie neatly tied and bloody white shirt showing through the torn coat sleeve. Dripping from his fingers and the razor clutched in his hand was fresh blood. The knife wound on his arm was re-opened and bleeding profusely. The stitches had been slashed with the razor.

 

You know dear that I’m in love with you

 

Hutch sang, a far away look in his sky blue eyes.

 

.oOOo.

 

Starsky hung up the white courtesy phone at the nurse’s station. Without taking his eyes off of Hutch’s room’s door and without revealing too much to his anxious boss, he managed to relate to Dobey that Hutch had a bad night. That Doc Vernet had admitted Hutch to Memorial for extensive testing.

 

Starsky thanked the nurse for the use of the phone with a nod and made his way to Hutch’s room.

 

“How you doin’, Jim?” Starsky acknowledged the ex high school football quarterback/orderly that Dr. Vernet had asked to watch over Hutch.

 

“He hasn’t moved much. Keeps humming.”

 

Starsky sighed. “Go get yourself some coffee. Here,” Starsky pulled out some crumpled bills. “Bring me back a regular coffee and a danish.”

 

Jim smiled and left.

 

Starsky turned to Hutch and moved close to the bed. Hutch, who was now cleaned up, re-stitched and dressed in a polka dot hospital gown. He continued to hum softly to himself while his fingers stroked the skeletal bruise on his arm. His eyes were unfocused, seemingly finding the wall more interesting than Starsky. 

 

Starsky recognized the tune he was humming. It was Melancholy Baby.

 

Starsky thought his heart might burst as he looked at his partner. He gently took Hutch’s slowly moving hand in his. Starsky cleared his throat afraid his voice would betray his churning emotions.

 

“Hush, now, Hutch. Don’t give in to it. I need you to see me.” Starsky took Hutch’s chin in his other hand and turned his head. “Look at me, blondie. I need you to see me.”

 

Hutch stopped humming and frowned. His blinked his eyes as if they were dry and focused on his partner. “Stars? Wha’? What’s goin’on?”

 

“Awww…” Starsky choked on his words, tears filling his eyes as he smiled. “There you are. There you are!”

 

“Where have I been, baby?” Hutch’s voice was soft and puzzled. 

 

“That’s not important, as long as you are with me now. Hutch, ya sorta freaked out this mornin’. Had me worried. The Doc admitted you for testing. He thinks maybe he missed somethin’ physical that’s makin’ you fade in and out. Don’t worry babe. Ya probably swallowed a mutant fish or somethin’.”

 

Hutch smiled. “Mutant fish, huh? Must be. Clown.” Hutch reached up and ran his free hand around Starsky’s neck bringing him in for a kiss. When they broke apart, Hutch rested his head on Starsky’s shoulder, closed his eyes and sighed.

 

“I… I don’t remember anything happening, Starsk.”

 

“What’s the last thing you do remember?” Starsky spoke gently and stroked Hutch’s hair to comfort him.

 

“Pizza. Eating pizza at my place. Nothing after. And before that is really fuzzy. I know Bren’s car went off the bridge. I know he died… but… I… I…”

 

“Shhh. It’s alright, babe. There’s no good gonna come from rememberin’ all that. I know what happened. If you ever need to remember for some reason I’ll tell ya about it. That okay for now? 

 

Hutch nodded against his shoulder.

 

“Hey. Ya can’t be comfy like this. Stretch out. Ya hungry, thirsty?” Hutch leaned back in his bed and glanced at the white bandage on his arm, wondering why it was throbbing again. “Would you get me some water, Starsk?”

 

Jim had left a yellow pitcher of ice water and two clear plastic glasses by Hutch’s bed. Starsky poured Hutch a bit more than half a glass and handed it to him. Hutch took the glass and stared into it. He absently swirled the water around and watched as the distorted images of his bedclothes and hand. They moved as if captured by the water and struggling to get free.

 

“Hutch? What’s wrong? Ya gonna drink that or what? Hutch?”

 

Hutch sang into the glass of water as he brought it slowly to his lips. 

 

Every cloud must have a silver lining

 

“No!” Starsky took the glass from Hutch’s lips and threw it across the room. “No! Hutch! Stay with me. I love you. Stay with me!” He grabbed Hutch and shook him, but he was far away. 

 

Starsky sat despondently on the edge of the hideous chair provided for concerned loved ones, put his head on Hutch’s wounded arm and cried.

 

.oOOo.

 

Jim returned with the much needed coffee and cheese danish. Starsky rallied, not wanting the orderly to see his despair. Starsky and Jim arranged that Jim would come back and sit with Hutch during the night while Starsky took a break. Hutch had a busy day ahead of him, full of needles and x-ray machines. Hutch was not aware of this, but Starsky was aware of every second because of the agonizing pain in his heart.

 

At dusk Hutch was back in his room sleeping peacefully. Starsky watched the sunset through the slits in the white blinds on the window in Hutch’s room. The blinds sliced into the glorious colors of the still cloudy sky into slivers of disconnected beauty. 

 

Hutch loved sunsets. Starsky loved watching Hutch get excited about ever changing hues and waxing poetic about change being a part of life. “Each day is brand new to use as you will,” he’d say with that Hutchinson thousand watt smile that drove Starsky crazy with desire.

 

The door to Hutch’s room opened and Starsky was immediately on his feet. A large vase of yellow carnations entered followed by an even larger Captain Dobey. The big man was surprisingly quiet when he saw Hutch was sleeping. The Captain put down his flowers and crooked his finger at Starsky. They spoke in the hallway outside Hutch’s door.

 

“What’s going on, son?” Dobey placed a hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

 

“Cap, Hutch is… is… not himself. He’s sorta delirious.”

 

“He’s running a fever?”

 

“No. That would be an easy fix. The Doc thinks maybe his insulin is out of whack or he picked up an infection…”

 

“So. He doesn’t know anything.”

 

“Yeah. Cap.”

 

Dobey looked his detective up and down, not liking what he saw. Dobey knew about the partner’s relationship, but not officially. Edith had somehow guessed and patiently explained it to him till he understood. It took her several attempts. 

 

Dobey was an old fashioned man who sometimes felt bewildered by the the new world of the next generation. But he understood the love between partners. And he understood the destruction of prejudice. He was content to be happy that the boys he loved had each other. He would defend with his last breath his boys’ right to happiness. But it was better for everyone if he wasn’t privy to the details. 

 

“Dave, take a break and come home with me. Edith would love to see you and feed you. You can kick back for a while and get some rest. You can also give me your statement. Edith knows shorthand and can type it up for me. I’ll write the report myself and get the FBI off our backs. Then when Hutch is back to work we’ll tie the case all up in a bow and IA can file it where the sun don’t shine. How does that sound?”

 

Starsky glanced through the small window in Hutch’s door. His lover was still, breathtakingly beautiful in sleep. Starsky nodded.

 

“Okay. There’s an orderly I trust coming in shortly to spell me so I can grab some dinner. I’ll head to your place when he gets here. But just for a few hours. I’m staying here tonight in case Hutch wakes up and needs me.”

 

Dobey smiled. This kind of love he understood intimately.

 

“Sure, son. We’ll wait dinner for you.”

 

.oOOo.

 

A half hour later, Jim sat bored and yawning in Hutch’s room. He had gone home planning to sleep away the day and be ready for his paid evening vigil with the blond cop. He thought it would be a cushy job to just sit all night, or until the curly-haired cop threw him out. And he wanted to impress Dr. Vernet with his dependability. But his girlfriend had called and that was the end of his plan to sleep. Jim wiggled in the incredibly uncomfortable chair and listened to Hutch’s even breaths. Soon, after jerking himself to awareness several times, he nodded off. 

 

Jim snored once, smacked his lips, but didn’t quite wake up. Hutch’s eyes flew open and he sat up gazing around the room as if he were in a strange unearthly place. His eyes settled on the yellow carnations. They made him feel tremendously happy but he didn’t know why. He turned his head slowly and saw an orderly fast asleep in the chair. 

 

Hutch stood and touched the silky petals of the flowers. He gathered them together and inhaled their fresh perfume. One by one he carefully laid them across his empty bed. The last two he placed entwined on the pillow. He smiled at his display. 

 

Hutch knelt in front of the small cabinet on wheels that served as his night stand. The heavy cut glass vase stood on top of the cabinet. Hutch paused a moment and gazed into the side of the vase. He could see the water from the flowers shimmering through the facets of the cut glass. Flashes of bright watery rainbows filled his vision. He heard a compelling voice he’d recognize anywhere. Bren.

 

“Come to me, Hugo. I want to dance with you. The music is in our souls. Hear it? Come to me, my love.”

 

Hutch opened the cabinet door and pulled out the bloody clothes secreted there. He had feigned sleep and hid them just before the nurse came to dispose of them. Everyone, including Starsky assumed they were incinerated by now. His wallet, badge and ID were in the small drawer above the cabinet door. He would need some money for cab fare. He checked the wallet quickly. There was more than enough for a one way trip.

 

Jim continued to doze as Hutch dressed. Just as he was finishing, Jim began to stir. He opened his eyes.

 

“Hey, there, pal. What are you doing out of bed… dressed in a really, really bad looking tux. Um… yeah, well, why don’t you just sit down there on the bed. Um… the bed covered with flowers… wow, that’s creepy… and… and I’ll fetch Dr. Vernet. How would that be, huh?”

 

Hutch just smiled and inched towards the bed. When Jim turned his back, Hutch grabbed the vase and struck Jim on the head with it. Jim fell to the floor and didn’t move.

 

Hutch stood over the orderly and dropped the vase. It shattered and Hutch looked at the fragments of wet glass as if he couldn’t imagine how they got there or why the young man at his feet was so still. Something nagged at his mind. This was wrong somehow. He shook off the feeling and reached for the phone. He dialed and got an outside line. Quickly he dialed the number for the Bay City cab company and requested a cab to meet him outside the hospital.


	4. Wait until the sun shines through

Starsky floored the gas as he pushed the Torino to go faster. The mars light and siren paved his way through the dark, winding road. Hutch was gone. He had knocked out Jim with a vase and covered his bed with the flowers. Like a memorial to the beloved blond. Starsky shivered when he saw them, after tending to the very indignant but alive orderly. 

 

A cabbie had called in saying that an officer named Hutchinson, acting very strange and dressed even stranger, had asked to be let off at the site of the old carnival on the bay. But Starsky didn’t have to be told. He already knew where Hutch was going.

 

Starsky turned of his light and siren when he neared the road with no name that led to the Carnival. He drove as close as he could to the bridge, turned off the lights and opened his door. He immediately heard the jukebox playing the song that he hated. The song that had ensnared his Hutch and held him in its spell.

 

Every cloud must have a silver lining  
Wait until the sun shines through  
Smile, my honey dear  
While I kiss away each tear  
Or else I shall be melancholy too.

 

Starsky stood before what was left of the bridge. It had listed to the right and most of it was under the bay. But if you watched your footing a man could still climb across it. On the other side the lights that could not possibly be lit were shining and swaying to the music that floated over the bay and swam in Starsky’s pounding head.

 

The dancers were out in full force. Swirling on the beachfront dancefloor. They shimmered glowing brightly, then suddenly pivoted and were clothed in darkness. Their fine clothes hung from their skeletal forms, tattered by nature into shreds held together by the force of the music.

Starsky cautiously made his way across the bridge. Halfway across he spotted a blond head glowing under the phantom lights, dancing in the arms of a black-haired ghoul who used to be the murderer, Bren Ganson.

 

Starsky itched to go in shooting. But he knew it would have no effect. If the souls of the bay managed to pull Hutch under the water he would be gone forever. Starsky swallowed the lump in his throat. He could not fall apart, even if every hair on his head was standing up in fear. He somehow knew he had to play by their rules.

 

Starsky walked casually right up to Hutch and tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“May I cut in?” he asked as politely as he could. Bren stared at him with empty eyes and slowly bowed, moving Hutch into Starsky’s arms in one smooth move. The music swelled and the dancers danced on heedless of them. Bren stood to one side and waited.

 

Hutch smiled sadly as if recalling a favorite memory. “Starsky? What are you doing here?”

 

“Dancin’ with you, babe. You know I love to dance with you.”

 

“I know. Stars, I belong here now. I died. In the bay. She wants me back. She’s staked her claim. She sent Bren to get me.”

 

“You’re wrong, Hutch. Your heart belongs to me. You died in the bay but I saved you. I gave you my life’s breath. I’m here to claim your soul. You once gave it to me for safekeeping. And I intend to keep it.”

 

The music ceased and the dancers froze. The lights exploded and the wind picked up. 

 

Starsky held Hutch fast with both hands. Bren grabbed Hutch’s arm and pulled. Hutch threw his head back and screamed, “Starsk! Don’t let me go!”

 

“Never! You willingly gave me your body and your heart. Now I want to save your soul!” yelled Starsky.

 

“Yes! Yes! I give you all of me!”

 

The dancers growled as the bay grew rough and the wind screeched curses. Starsky felt cold bony fingers trying to pull him away from his Hutch. Pulling Hutch towards the bay. Bren was trying to edge them nearer to the choppy waves just beyond the dance floor.

 

Starsky threw back his head and roared. “I claim this man! Body, heart and soul!”

 

Waves crashed over the dance floor. Starsky felt his grip on Hutch slip. He pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around his waist. He clasped his own wrists and locked Hutch to his body with all his strength. 

 

The dancers whimpered and moaned as they were reclaimed by the waves sent by the bay. Bren was whipped by a wave that knocked all three of them over. Starsky sputtered and held Hutch even closer. Bren dragged his hands over Hutch’s body clinging to him as the water pried his hands away. Starsky felt Hutch sob as he clung desperately to life, to Starsky.

 

Starsky screamed over the howling wind and seeking waves.

 

“I love him! LET HIM GO!”

 

Bren moaned and let go. The bay reached out her watery fingers and claimed him as her own.

 

Hutch was free.

 

The wind stopped. The waves calmed. The clouds passed. And the full moon appeared above the bay casting out the shadows and making the darkness light.

 

Starsky looked up at the moon and smiled. He looked down and Hutch was smiling at him with adoration.

 

“Steel. You saved my soul.”

 

“Hey! It’s the least I could do. You already saved mine. The first time you caught me in those sky blue eyes and smiled at me.”

 

They kissed and celebrated life, making love by the peaceful moonlit bay.

.oOOo.

Epilogue: Smile, my honey dear

 

One month later

.oOOo.

 

Dobey entered the squad room and threw a folder on Hutch’s desk. Both partners grabbed for it and looked up at Dobey. He shrugged and walked into his office. 

 

Starsky pried the folder from under Hutch’s flattened hand making him grunt.

 

Hutch crossed his arms and watched Starsky with amusement until Starsky’s face changed.

 

“What, Starsky?”

 

“The FBI decided that you own… that you rightfully own…”

 

“What?” Hutch stood up, eyes wide. “The Picasso?”

 

“Noooooo! Hutch. The island that… the carnival is on.”

 

Hutch sat abruptly almost missing his chair and growing pale. Starsky went on.

 

“Ganson had a will made up. You… or rather Hugo Masterson is his sole heir. His assets have been frozen, but the island technically belongs to you. Some weird old law about owning the islands in the bay. His intent was for you to own it, even if you were undercover.”

 

“Starsk? What should I do? I… I…”

 

“Now hold it, blintz. I got this. You keep it and tear the carnival down. And the bridge. Make it inexccessible. Give the island back to the seagulls and other naturey things. You know, one of those bird sanctionary things.”

 

“Inaccessible, Starsk. Do you mean a bird sanctuary?”

 

“Yeah, the Hutchinson bird sanctionary.”

 

Hutch smiled. “Call it the Starsky and Hutchinson bird sanctuary and I’ll go for it.”

 

“Good. All settled.” Starsky closed the folder with a snap.

 

“Only… “

 

“Only what, blondie?”

 

“I’m never going back there.”

 

“Oh, no. Me neither. It’s for the birds.”

 

Hutch groaned and Starsky chuckled. He reached for another file and Hutch reached under his desk and brought out what looked like a painting wrapped in brown paper and string.

 

“What’s that?” Starsky grabbed at the parcel and Hutch let him have it this time.

 

“It’s a present. A thank you present. For you.”

 

Starsky furrowed his brow wondering what his partner was up to. He fussed impatiently with the string, discarding it and ripping the brown paper to reveal what was hidden inside.

 

It was a poster of Picasso’s Mains aux Fleurs, mounted in a black frame.

 

“Hutch. It’s terrific!”

 

Hutch leaned closer and whispered, “It reminds me of you. Bright and giving. It says ‘love’ to me. Love between friends. One hand giving, one hand receiving. I may not want to remember what happened to me on that moonless night at the carnival, but I will never forget the man who put himself between my soul and oblivion and saved me with his love.”

 

Hutch leaned back and glanced around the squad room. Everyone was busy with their work. Starsky was looking at the poster, running a finger over the glass, tracing the four flowers in the bouquet. He stood then and leaned into Hutch’s space. He whispered back, “I’ve got a present for you too. Meet me at my apartment, half hour. Bring a hammer and a nail. Clothing optional.”

 

Starsky walked out, the Picasso tucked under his arm, leaving a blushing Hutch behind

 

 

.oOOo.

 

The End


End file.
